


Bittersweet

by kissmedeadlytt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Gentle Sex, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:55:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmedeadlytt/pseuds/kissmedeadlytt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their nightly arrangement is nothing short of beautiful - but it's not perfect. Because Dean's too scared to admit that there's more to this than just sex. But he's beginning to realize he can't deny it anymore - that he doesn't want to deny it anymore. And, apparently, neither does Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a Destiel sex scene, so I hope it turned out alright! I was really trying to keep in mind Dean's emotions throughout it. It's really late, so please ignore any typos or grammar errors there might be - or just point them out and I'll fix them when I can. :)

Dean swore that he had never, in his life, seen something as beautiful as Castiel’s eyes when they were making love.

No, no, not making love— he wasn’t allowed to use that term. This wasn’t making love. This was just sex. Just a way to take out pent-up frustrations and anger and poorly repressed self-hatred, on both their parts; a way to forget, even just for a little while.

This was his favourite part of their evening arrangement. When Cas was trembling beneath him, rocking his hips desperately into empty air. When his hair was messy and dark against light blue sheets, head thrown back into Dean’s pillow.  When every sound he made was breathless, throaty, wanton with desire. When the feeling of hot breath on his throat and coarse stubble scratching at his collarbone sent ripples of unadulterated pleasure down Dean’s spine. All of it. It was all perfect.

Dean used to treat sex as a higher art form, a way to impress his guests – and oh, did he _impress them_ – but getting what he wanted out of it too. It had ultimately always come down to release. He’d just wanted a few hours of bliss to forget the shithole that was his life, to feel like someone needed him, to just fucking pretend nothing else existed for a while. Cas had changed all that. He probably hadn’t even meant to. But his inexperience, his capricious demeanor, his eagerness to learn the pleasures of the flesh, his selfishness – they’d thrown all that out the window. They should take away from it. But Dean loved it.

He felt teeth biting at his clavicle, hot breath panting on his skin as Cas dragged his tongue down his chest. The occasional gasp or heated moan that reverberated out of the angel’s mouth had Dean’s head spinning; he twisted his fingers just so, inside of Cas, so that the body below him bowed off the bed and involuntarily thrusted down onto his hand. Cas’ hands scrambled for something, anything to hold on to – the headboard ended up being the victim, and new dents appeared next to ones from previous nights. The whimper against his chest was almost pained in its desire. Dean closed his eyes, inhaling the heady scent of sex and sweat and honey and _Cas_ , pressing his thumb gently against Cas’ perineum, massaging slowly, until Cas was a trembling, gasping mess beneath him, clenching uncontrollably around his fingers, _begging_.

“Dean, Dean,” and _god_ , Dean loved hearing his name chanted like that, like a prayer, a fucking prayer said by an _angel_ , and wasn’t that just the hottest fucking thing ever, “I can’t— _Dean_ ,” Cas gasped sharply, fingers digging into the headboard, as Dean hooked his fingers and made fireworks appear behind his eyelids. Dean just lowered himself so that they were flush together, Cas’ legs wrapping tight around his waist, fitting them perfectly together, and planted a soft kiss on Cas’ jaw. Then another, and another – showering little quick kisses up and down the angel’s cheek and jaw and neck, making Cas melt beneath him, making his eyelids flutter as his eyes rolled back into his head, making a soft, impatient moan escape his lips.

When Dean wanted to take things slow, like this – use his tongue, his teeth, lips, fingers, the hot, slow grind of his body over another’s, use his weapons – Cas was always so damn avaricious and needy. Begging and demanding and _growling_ that Dean hurry up, that he isn’t made of glass, that he won’t break. Hell, Dean should be the one worried about being broken when Cas got like this. A few times, he’d roused the angel to the point that he’d had to shut his eyes against the glow of Cas’ wings as the angel’s frustration and yearning grew past a tolerable point. He’d had to clench his teeth against the pain of hearing Cas’ real voice. But it was worth it. It was so damn worth it to see Cas losing his mind with ecstasy.

When Dean wanted to take things fast – a quickie in the backseat of the Impala while Sam ran into the library, maybe, or hot and dirty against the wall in the bunker when they had a brief moment alone – Cas held out on him, teased _him_ , refused to let him come until Sam’s voice was just around the corner, until he was trying his hardest not to scream. Sleeping with such a quirky, stubborn, son of a bitch of an angel was possibly the best and worst decision Dean had ever made. He was positive Sam knew, or at least had some inkling of suspicion.

He took pity on Cas tonight – the desperate, maddened pleas were becoming deafening – and slowly slid his fingers out. Cas let out something between a breath and a whine, and it nearly made Dean’s eyes roll back into his head. He felt the body beneath him relax onto the bed, felt Cas’ chest heaving as he gasped for air he didn’t need. Something inside of him clenched when Cas mindlessly reached up to pull him into a slow, deep kiss, legs falling open, hips thrusting into the air just slightly. Dean got the message.

It always started slow and steady and quiet, Cas clenching his jaw and closing his eyes tight – Dean wished he’d keep them open – as if to keep out all earthly sensations except Dean pressing into him. So silent, so still, with the divine immobility of the porcelain angel Dean had, so many years ago, spent countless minutes staring at and wondering if there was such a thing. And as Dean went deeper, it became too much for him; he trembled and gasped softly, bright blue eyes fluttering open, arms reaching for him, aching, _craving_ for him to come closer. Deeper. Until they were more one being than two.

Dean couldn’t help but give him exactly what he wanted – he’d never really been able to say no to Cas. It was a bit bittersweet, though. They both wanted this, this physical intimacy, this connection, they both wanted it so bad – but in a few hours’ time, it would be just a memory. It wouldn’t be mentioned. There wouldn’t be anything except lingering, needy glances, tension and barely-repressed desire. It would just be a memory he relived in his morning shower, in vague daydreams in the driver’s seat of the Impala, in the back of his mind, always there; a burn under his skin that only another release could cool.

But they weren’t making love. He couldn’t let himself think that. Because everyone that Dean loved died – and Cas couldn’t die. He couldn’t. Dean would die too. He was sure of it.

Beneath him, Cas was coming undone – emotions that he did not know how to express were displayed flawlessly in his flushed cheeks, glazed, dark eyes, in his lips as they parted in silent moans and half-sobs. It was these moments that Dean felt more than the hot, pleasurable shiver that tore through him and pooled between his legs and made him move harder, faster, more more _more_ – it was these moments that scared the hell out of him. Because what he felt right now wasn’t carnal lust, wasn’t bestial desire to get off. This was need. He _needed_ Cas. And that was scary.

He felt in in the way his body went taut when Cas made those sounds. Felt it in the way Cas rolled up into him, in the way they fit together perfectly, in the way the hands leaving red, raw marks down his back made him feel more whole than he ever had before. When they get to this point, where even the hushed brush of skin on cloth sounds dirty, he had desperate urges to hold Cas close and never let him go and whisper sweet, beautiful words he had said before but never really meant.

 _I need you. I love you. I_ need _you_.

Cas shook, thrusting upwards, tight around him. Trying to get him to move harder, faster – but Dean wanted it to last. He tasted sweat and skin as he kissed and suckled at the soft skin beneath the angel’s jaw, peppering him in sweet, chaste kisses that said everything he wanted to say but was too afraid to.

“Dean…” His voice was breathless, vulnerable. Beautiful. His head lolled back as Dean continued kissing his way down to his collarbone, moaning quietly when Dean’s hands left his hips to wander up his arms, chest, shoulders – touching everywhere at once as if Cas was his oxygen. Cas’ toes curled, legs tightening around Dean’s waist.

“Cas,” Dean managed to choke out. There was a lump of emotion in his throat he couldn’t quite swallow. The angel arched and cursed in a language older than Dean’s people as one thrust had Dean grinding into his prostate. Dean nearly lost it right then and there.

“Say my name,” Cas got out through a series of gasps and moans as Dean finally gave in and sped up, fucking into Cas so hard the bed the bed was rocking. One palm slicked up Dean’s arm to dig into the place where his scar used to be. The other gripped the headboard hard enough that an alarming crack sound broke through the room. Dean’s heart pounded, partially in terror – this part was always scary. Cas was like a bomb. He sometimes forgot he was fucking an angel. An angel who could kill him with less effort than it would take to swat a fly. Cas’ orgasms were literally the most beautiful and terrifying things Dean had ever experienced.  

“Cas,” he gasped again, breathing hot into the crook of Cas’ neck, falling onto his elbows as his shaking arms gave out. 

“My full name,” Cas breathed. Head lolling back. Eyes beading with tears, lips red from being bitten, cheeks flushed. Dean was convinced this was something close to Heaven on Earth.

He bit hard into Cas’ shoulder, earning a soft cry, and growled, “ _Castiel_.”

Cas’ hips jerked suddenly, less fluid than before, and his breath hitched as he took him deeper, shifting in the kind of pleasurable silence than can only signify the final ebb. There was a painful ringing in Dean’s ears as Cas came hard, teeth clamping down on his lower lip to muffle his vessel’s voice, like he was worried about Sam or Kevin hearing down the hall. Something inside of Dean was amused. If they couldn’t hear the ringing, or the crackling sound of everything glass threatening to shatter from the sheer force of it, then they wouldn’t be hearing Castiel’s vessel.

Watching it happen, feeling Cas seize up beneath him, is what does him in. His rhythm had been lost some time ago, grinding desperately and mindlessly, reduced to sheer, basic instincts. When he reached his orgasm, he didn’t even bother trying to keep from crying out – it tore out from him anyway in a broken, gasped moan of Cas’ name, barely audible under the ear-shattering ringing. If Sam and Kevin hadn’t figured out their nightly arrangements yet, they certainly had now. At this point he couldn’t care less.

When it was over, and Cas had fallen limp onto the bed, Dean finally pulled out. He grimaced at the wetness that dripped from Cas’ hole, but the angel just sighed pleasantly, arms reaching out blindly to draw Dean down for another kiss. Dean couldn’t resist if he wanted to.

This was the part where Dean helped Cas clean up (not that he needed to, because Dean knew that Cas could have them both clean with the bat of an eyelash or whatever, but he liked it, so Cas never argued) and Cas left with a flutter of wings that left Dean feeling empty and frustrated because just sex wasn’t enough, damn it. But the kiss lingered, and Dean didn’t feel like letting Cas go. And, apparently, Cas felt the same – as Dean rolled over onto his back, never breaking the kiss, Cas followed and curled up next to him.

“Dean,” Cas murmured against his mouth. Dean’s heart did a ridiculous flutter.

“Mm?” he said tiredly, bringing a hand up to run through Cas’ wild curls.

“I do not want to leave.”

Dean’s heart fluttered again, squeezed almost painfully – because oh, hell, he was so in over his head. He opened his eyes to see Cas leaning over him, gaze sincere and soft and hopeful. Something inside of him shattered. He supposed it was any denial he had left.

He smiled, just a tiny curve of his mouth. “Then don’t.” Just fuck it. He had to take this chance – he loved Cas so much, needed him so much – and he wasn’t happy with just the physical aspect of it anymore. He sighed, pulling Cas nearer to him, planting a soft kiss on his temple when Cas snuggled closer. “Watch over me, Angel.”

Cas smiled back – it was in his eyes more than anything. God, his eyes. Dean wasn’t a romantic guy, really, but he swore he could stare into them forever. They were so blue, so beautiful, and they said everything they were both too scared to say. Cas sighed softly as Dean’s eyelids began drooping, curled closer, planted a soft kiss on Dean’s jaw.

“Always.”


End file.
